


to noise-making

by mercuryhatter



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Season/Series 02, Trans Characters, Trans Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Trans Martin Blackwood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:40:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24904729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercuryhatter/pseuds/mercuryhatter
Summary: relationship ended with worms at the office, meet cute at the gender support group is my new best friend
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 52
Kudos: 298





	1. listen

**Author's Note:**

> I probably shouldn't have posted this as is but getting the first segment up will convince me to finish the rest tomorrow, so here it is! just a short little fluff, set mid-season two.

The little package of blue pills sat in Jon’s hand, a taunt and a dare and a promise all at once, and he could barely stand to look at them straight on. They stayed in his bag for several days after they arrived in the mail, close enough that he  _ could _ take them if he wanted to. They moved to his pocket after he started fixating on the possibility that someone might go through his bag, or he might drop it, and then he’d be caught-- unable to shake the idea that he was doing something wrong by even having them. 

He could hear the voices of so many friends-- former friends--  _ people he knew _ \-- telling him that wasn’t true, but it didn’t make the pills any easier to take. So they bounced around in the pocket of his slacks, drumming a wistful tattoo against his thigh. 

It was coincidence that he found the flyer, crumpled and barely legible at the bottom of an old bag of his. He used to carry it at university and it was still half-stuffed with detritus from that time, hanging in a corner of his closet near the box of clothes he no longer wore. The group advertised on the flyer probably didn’t even meet anymore, he told himself, but it still joined the box of pills in his pocket, and at 7:00 that Thursday evening he was standing outside the library conference room, pretending to be absorbed in the weekly picks display. 

He didn’t go in that day, but he confirmed that the group still met, and carried that like an ember in his chest for the next week. 

\--

“Hello, I’m Jon, uh-- a-any pronouns, thank you.” Jon had practiced that under his breath the entire trip to the library, but the end of it still trailed off into stutters, eyes flicking up from his twisted hands, looking for laughter or for someone to show him the door. No one did. “Uh, it’s my first time, I-- I don’t really have anything to say.” 

“That’s okay. Thanks for coming, Jon.” The group facilitator was an older butch named Mateo, with silver hair in short twists and a warm, comforting smile. He moved the conversation smoothly on to the next person, and something in Jon relaxed minutely. The next Thursday morning he stared at the pills in his hand, ready to transfer them to his pocket for the day, for long minutes before whispering to himself “ _ fuck it _ ,” and popping one into his mouth before he could change his mind. The whole day he felt like he was getting away with a crime, irrationally waiting to be confronted by everyone he spoke to-- but more than once he caught himself laughing quietly to himself when he was alone, the secret joy in his chest too much to bear in silence. 

\--

Jon still carried the hormones with him, like a talisman now seven pills lighter in his pocket. He checked in the mirror every morning, looking for a new softness to his skin, a new luster to his hair, even though he knew it was too soon to tell. And when he arrived at the library that evening, he was sure his voice wouldn’t falter on his introduction. 

Sure, that is, until he saw a round, familiar face through the conference room window, and froze. 

Cloudy pink hair, self-conscious smile, and a cardigan Jon had never seen him wear at work, Martin was in the meeting room, talking to a short person in a leather jacket called Ro like he knew them. As Mateo came in Martin waved to him too, the motion turning him towards the window in a way that sent Jon scrambling away towards the biography section, bunching his scarf up around his face as he went. 


	2. hum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops! it's gonna be three chapters! xoxo next one tomorrow or Saturday lol

The thing was, Jon had absolutely no one to talk to about this. He had the feeling that Melanie or even Georgie might be able to talk some sense into him-- because he knew for a fact that whatever his feelings on the incident, “sense” had not yet come into it-- but that would require explaining what he was doing there in the first place. Further, it would require explaining that  _ Martin _ was there, which was even more delicate-- Jon hadn’t even known that Martin was trans. He didn’t know who else knew, or who Martin would be okay with knowing, or even technically whether Martin was trans at all, now that Jon thought about it, and wasn’t just there for someone else’s moral support. 

So Jon did what anyone in his situation would do: he informed the Archives that he would be late getting in, and in the morning he went directly to the nearest animal shelter and deposited himself in their cat playroom. 

“I don’t want to make him uncomfortable,” he explained to a tortoiseshell called Blueberry, as she flopped over the top of his shoe. 

“I’m sure there’s another group that meets somewhere else I could look into,” he told a black cat with a bitten ear. 

“ _ Should _ I talk to him about it?” he implored a bright orange manx winding between his ankles. 

“It would be nice,” he finally admitted to a group of littermates, piled on top of each other in the same box. “To have someone to talk to about it. Someone who understands.” 

“I should at least find out what he wants me to do about it,” he decided, letting a black cat named Teapot perch on his shoulder. “That’s the polite thing to do, I think.” 

“Thank you all for your attention,” he said formally as he stood to go, prying Blueberry off his trouser leg. “I’m sure I’ll see some of you soon.” 

Having a resolution did not stop Jon from blatantly hiding from Martin at every opportunity for the rest of the day at work, but he didn’t trust himself not to blurt out something indiscreet if they ran into each other before his carefully planned meeting after the others had left for the day. 

“Martin,” he called, the moment Tim left the office, “can I see you for a moment?” 

“Sure,” Martin said, dropping his bag where he’d been preparing to go. “Do you need help with something?” 

“No, I just, it’s, uh, a personal matter. Um. Not too personal. Just--” Jon forced himself with an effort to stop rambling, squeezed the bottle of pills in his pocket like a worry stone. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I just-- don’t really know how to broach the subject?”

“That’s okay,” Martin said slowly. “Jon… is this about last night? At the library?” 

Jon’s eyebrows shot up and his heart did something very strange in his chest, as if it was unsure whether to freeze in fear or stutter with hope. 

“You saw me?” 

“Yeah. I wasn’t going to bring it up if you didn’t, I know it can be hard. If you’re not comfortable with me being there, there’s another meeting on Mondays I could switch to? Or if you want to talk about it? I’m here for that too. Only if you want, obviously, just-- yeah. I know how it is, is all.” 

“Oh.” Jon let out a soft  _ ha _ , the tiny beginnings of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “No, you don’t have to-- I mean, I’m not uncomfortable, I just didn’t want to-- well. Make  _ you _ uncomfortable. Out you. Or anything.” Martin chuckled. 

“I mean, I think it would be kind of hard to out me at this point,” he said, as if Jon should understand the joke, then pausing when it was clear that he didn’t. “Jon… did you not know?” 

“No, of course not. Does anyone?” 

“Jon. I don’t want to tease you for not noticing, because it’s honestly kind of flattering, but I’m  _ literally _ wearing trans flag socks right now.” Martin lifted up his trouser leg, pink, white, and blue stripes peeking out from beneath them, and Jon flushed deeply. In a clear act of mercy, Martin didn’t wait for him to respond, just smiled at him without a trace of humor at his expense. “So do you want to talk about it? Is there anything I should change in how I refer to you, a name you’d like to use?” 

“Ah, no, I’m keeping Jon, thank you. And I haven’t really figured out… well, anything else, but I think I might like to try out some other pronouns? I like some of the newer ones, I think, but I haven’t… I don’t really have anyone to practice with,” he admitted. 

“Okay,” Martin said easily. “Do you want to go get coffee about it? I’m free this evening. If that’s not too much.” 

“No… no, that would be nice, actually. You wouldn’t mind?” 

“I’d love to, actually,” Martin said; his turn to blush. Jon caught himself, not for the first time, thinking how nice it looked against his hair. 


	3. sing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long for still being so small life sure does happen so much.... anyway I hope this is satisfying at least! thanks so much for all the kind comments!! this one goes out to all my trans sisters and siblings I love yall so much keep being amazing <3

Jon stared at the box in the corner of zir closet with as much trepidation as zie’d regarded zir first packet of estradiol three months ago. Zir medicine cabinet had expanded since then, adding spironolactone and biotin, while zir refrigerator filled up with different varieties of pickles and zir pronouns changed and settled, but this box had remained untouched. Despite everything, Jon felt like opening this box would be the last straw, the thing that would make it impossible for zir to shove all the progress zie’d made back inside if necessary, taking away zir last chance to remain safely in denial. 

Still, Martin was waiting for zir in the living room, and group was in two hours. There was nothing magical about the box or what was in it; if Jon wasn’t ready, zie could simply put it back. It was fine. 

Still, zir hands shook as they carried it out to the living room, placed it on the floor by the coffee table where it loomed ominously as Martin passed zir a cup of tea. 

“Ready?” he asked, fingers lingering against the back of Jon’s hand even after the mug had been passed. Jon sucked in a breath and nodded. 

Long, soft skirts, brightly colored scarves, button-down blouses not so different from what Jon already wore to work, but with smaller collars, the line of buttons damningly on the opposite side. Sensible flats, a small box of bracelets, even a bralette or two. A broad-brimmed woven hat with a ribbon encircling the brim. Jon took each item out and laid them on the floor, focusing on the feeling of Martin’s warm hand at the small of zir back and the methodical motions of lifting and unfolding rather than regard the contents of the box in their entirety. Then the box was empty and Jon was surrounded by color and zie felt zir eyes, so quick to well up and spill now, begin to prickle and spark. 

“They’re lovely, Jon,” Martin said. He moved his hand from Jon’s back to place it palm-up on zir thigh, offering it to hold if Jon needed it. “Do you want to pick some out for tonight, or just put them away for now?” 

Instead of answering, Jon started to sniffle in earnest, and Martin rescued the cup of tea from zir hand to soothe them through it. 

The swell of emotion wasn’t sad, wasn’t even afraid anymore, though the thread of fear strung throughout Jon was never entirely gone. But zie cried now mostly in relief, and tentatively, hopefully, in joy. 

Zie went to group that night in a long black skirt, a pale lavender blouse with a scalloped collar, a bright blue-and-gold scarf gathered like a shawl around zir shoulders. Three barrettes perched over one ear, a present from Martin weeks ago, and a single bracelet bounced familiarly on zir wrist in purple, black, grey, and white. Jon bounced Mateo’s new baby gently in zir lap while zie shared about zir week, and Martin greeted a shy newcomer with a wave. 

“What’s your name?” he asked. 

“I’m… not really sure yet,” they said softly. 

“That’s all right,” Jon put in, surprising zirself with their confidence, and the new person met zir eyes with a tentative smile. 


End file.
